The Something Borrowed Raid
by good4now
Summary: Troy and Hitch are in a POW camp and it's up to Moffitt and Tully to get them out. A little help from Dietrich is required.  Orignally written for a 10 Word Challenge prompt, circa 2008.  Sadly only 9 words remain because the 10th was a stretch.
1. Ambush

"All this sand and no ocean. It's just not right," said Hitch, looking out into the desert from the wrong side of a barbed wire fence.

Troy wondered if the kid was knocked in the head when they had gotten captured.

"No girls in bathing suits, no salt water taffy, and no boardwalk." Hitch shook his head. "I think that we got gipped, Sarge."

"Wouldn't be the first time that we'd gotten the wrong end of the stick.'' Troy looked over Hitch, who was steadily chomping his gum with a miserable expression on his face. "And it probably won't be the last.''

"Yeah, I figured that out a while ago. Like when I first joined the Army.''

Troy looked up and away, squinting right at the guard in the tower above them. He wondered if it was his imagination or if the guard looked just a little too eager to shoot them. From the guard's steady stare, Troy knew that it wasn't his imagination.

Turning his attention back to Hitch, Troy clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Hitch, we'll get out of here soon enough.''

"If you say so, Sarge," Hitch agreed, apparently accepting his fate based on Troy's guarantee that it would just be for a short duration. "You got a plan?"

"Well, Moffitt and Tully are still out there somewhere." Troy's eyes roamed out over the horizon as if looking for them.

"And?" Hitch blew a bubble in anticipation.

Troy shrugged and showed Hitch all of his even white teeth. "And what? I'm sure that they have a plan."

Hitch's bubble burst. "So, we're just going to do nothing but wait?"

"Yep, we're going to sit tight right here until the cavalry comes."

"So until then, we're in limbo, huh?"

Troy thought about what Hitch had just said. Until Moffitt and Tully cooked something up to get them out, Hitch and he were going to patiently wait at the edge of hell for whatever came next.

Yep, Troy thought, ''limbo'' just about summed it all up.

* * *

><p>"So," said Moffitt, leaning over the hood of the jeep and pointing at a place on the map. "I am assuming that this is where they were taken after they were captured."<p>

Tully moved closer for a better view. He frowned, not liking what he saw. "A POW camp?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so." Moffitt's expression looked grave. "Could be worse, I suppose. At least it's a Wehrmacht camp and not one run by the SS or the Gestapo."

To Tully, it didn't get much worse than a POW camp and it didn't matter who was running it. A stay in one was bound to be pretty awful. And though Tully didn't point it out to Moffitt, just because the SS or the Gestapo didn't own the place didn't mean that they couldn't or wouldn't stop by.

"A Hauptmann Greuber is the camp commandant from what I've been able to gather. Newly arrived from the desert from Berlin," Moffitt said. "So newly arrived, I doubt if he's had the opportunity to make the acquaintance of many of his fellow officers in Africa.''

Rocking back on his heels, Tully let a slow breath. He didn't care who was in charge of the place or how long the guy had been there. Tully waited for Moffitt to say something else. When it didn't happen, Tully decided to move the conversation along.

"So, we're going to bust Sarge and Hitch out, right?" Tully prompted.

"Yes, precisely."

"What's the plan?" Tully could tell by looking at Moffitt that he had one. Reaching into his pocket, Tully retrieved a fresh matchstick and patiently waited to hear how they were going to get Troy and Hitch out of this one.

Rolling up the map and replacing neatly back into the case, Moffitt grinned. Still grinning, he looked up at Tully. "Well, I was thinking that perhaps we should have Dietrich help us."

"Huh?" Tully stared at Moffitt. "Dietrich?''

"Yes, I'm sure that he'd be glad to assist. Once he finds out the situation.''

Now if that didn't beat all, thought Tully. He wondered if Moffitt was planning on calling up Dietrich and just asking out right for help or if he had something else in mind. He hoped that it was something else. If not, it might just be Moffitt's worst plan ever.

And even in the short time that Tully had known Moffitt that was saying something.

"Sounds odd, I know. But, I think it's pretty well known around the desert that Dietrich is just a tad obsessed with us. I don't think it would raise too many eyebrows if he showed up demanding that he be allowed to interrogate Troy and Hitch. Do you?"

"Not going to be Dietrich that shows up, though, is it?" Sometimes Tully thought Moffitt was a jinx. Sometimes he thought he was a genius.

"Not in the end, at any rate." Moffitt paused and frowned. "If all goes well, that is.''

* * *

><p>"Herr Hauptmann?"<p>

"What is it, Bader?"

Dietrich looked up from his report and managed to look very irritated at his newest leutnant. In truth, he welcomed the interruption. As always, his paperwork bored him. He knew that if he was able to spend as much time chasing the Rat Patrol as he did filling out reports about the damage that they had caused, he would have been able to catch them long ago.

"Herr Hauptmann Dietrich, Herr Hauptmann Greuber has been in contact," Bader said.

Dietrich frowned. "Who?"

"Hauptmann Greuber is the new commandant of one of our POW camps."

"Oh, that's right."

Dietrich thought for a moment of what he heard about the man. It had not been much more than some seedy rumor that Greuber had fallen out of favor with the leadership in Berlin for an extremely ill advised action. Dietrich sincerely doubted the reliability of what he had heard around the nature of the transgression.

If it was the truth, it should have gotten the man shot.

If nothing else, Dietrich supposed that it was a commentary on the current state of the Afrika campaign itself. Herr General Rommel used to command only the best officers. Now, instead of the best officers, the Afrika Korps were apparently getting the castoffs from the European fronts.

"Herr Hauptmann?'' Bader prompted.

Dietrich refocused himself. "Well, Bader, tell me, what did the man want?"

It had better be good, thought Dietrich. Regardless of whether the rumor of Greuber's disgrace was true or not, he had no desire to deal with the man.

Bader was fairly beaming. "He wanted to inform you that he has half of the Rat Patrol in custody. He thought that you might be interested in interrogating them."

"Really?" Dietrich leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers. "Which half?"

"Sergeant Troy and Private Hitchcock."

"And what of the other two? Moffitt and Pettigrew?"

Bader shrugged. "He did not mention them. But Troy is the leader, no? Without him, they are useless, surely."

It was all that Dietrich could do not to laugh out loud at how wrong young Bader was. Well, Dietrich thought, Bader would learn, likely the hard way just as he had. He just hoped that the boy survived the lesson.

"I should like to see that for myself. I hope that he realizes what he has in his possession." Dietrich also wondered what defense mechanisms Greuber had in place to protect himself and his camp from Moffitt and Pettigrew. It was surely only a matter of time before they came to rescue their partners in crime.

"I have already had your car readied. We can be on our way immediately after you have finished your reports." Bader smiled. "After all, it is not as though they are going anywhere, is it?"

Dietrich raised an eyebrow. No, his reports would not be going anywhere, though he was certain that Bader hadn't been referring to them.

Dietrich grabbed his hat and shoved his chair away from his desk. "Let's be on our way. You are driving, Bader?" He pushed past the boy and out into the bright sunlight.

His reports would wait. However, it was unlikely that Moffitt's and Pettigrew's rescue efforts would. There was no time to waste if he wanted to catch Troy and Hitchcock while they were still interred.

* * *

><p>Tully chewed on the end of his pencil. "Hey, Sarge?"<p>

Moffitt was draped across his seat like a cat sunning itself. He looked up from his book, stretched, and then yawned. "Yes, Tully?"

"What's a nine letter word for `desert dweller'?" Moffitt was the desert expert, thought Tully. This should be a piece of cake for him.

Moffitt closed his book but held his place with a finger. "Interesting question." Leaning over, he nodded in understanding when he saw what was occupying Tully's interest. "Doing crossword puzzles?"

"Yeah."

"That's a fine hobby. Very good exercise for the brain.''

Tully didn't know about all that, but he thought that they were fun. "Hitch's mom sent a whole book of them to him. He didn't want it." Tully shrugged. "Said they made his head hurt.''

Moffitt snorted with laughter.

Tully himself had found Hitch's reaction odd. With all of Hitch's fancy schooling he should have been able to rip right through the puzzles with hardly any effort at all. Tully frowned. Maybe Hitch had given him the book because they were too easy for him. Not that Tully really cared. It was good as a way to pass the time as any and it always seemed like they had a lot of time to pass. Some days they did more waiting than they did fighting.

"Well, considering that we're in the desert, let's think about this. Any letters filled in as of yet?" Moffitt asked.

"Fourth letter is an `m.'"

Moffitt concentrated and muttered possible choices under his breath, considering them and then discarding them. Finally, his face lit up. "Dromedary!" he said, triumphantly.

Tully looked at him.

Moffitt obligingly spelled the word.

"Camel, right?" asked Tully, filling it in. Not surprisingly, it fit. He nodded and filled in two more answers with a certain sense of satisfaction.

"Right," said Moffitt. He stretched again and put his own book aside. "I don't know about you, Tully, but I'm getting very tired of waiting. Surely, Dietrich should be along very soon." Moffitt suddenly grinned at Tully. "I wouldn't think that a herd of wild dromedaries would be able to keep him away.''

When Tully had first met Moffitt, he had just thought that he didn't get all of Moffitt's jokes on account of him being English. As he had gotten to know Moffitt, Tully had just realized that sometimes Moffitt was funny and sometimes he wasn't.

Tully did what he always did either way, and smiled. "Yeah. Can't imagine he'd waste any time."

"It's been quite a while since I contacted his camp. And from where we know his column to be, this would be the most logical route for him to take to get from point A to B. I doubt that we've missed him." Swinging his long legs out over the side of the jeep, Moffitt grabbed the pair of binoculars. "I'll leave you to your puzzles and I'll go keep a look out."

"Sounds good. Holler if you see anything." Tully filled in another word.

"Right." Moffitt winked at him. "Holler if you run across any other particularly knotty clues."

Tully went back to the puzzle and Moffitt scrambled up a dune.

* * *

><p>In less than fifteen minutes, Moffitt was back at the jeep.<p>

"Sorry, Tully, I'm afraid that the crosswords will have to wait. I see a Kubelwagon coming at us. I'm relatively certain that it's Dietrich."

Nodding, Tully threw the book into the back of the jeep. He was ready for some action.

The puzzles were fun enough, but not nearly as much fun as getting the best of Dietrich.

* * *

><p>Dietrich, expertly hog tied most likely by Pettigrew, looked up from the sand at the two members of the Rat Patrol who were regrettably still menacing the desert unfettered.<p>

He was not happy, and his state of mind was not being helped by the fact that he was lying in the coarse hot sand in only his undergarments. His anger only increased as he looked at Moffitt, who was now wearing his uniform.

"You do know Sergeant Moffitt, that being caught in a German officer's uniform is considered espionage. A crime that is punishable by death,'' Dietrich warned.

Moffitt gave Dietrich a strange look. "I am very aware of that, Captain. You see, I almost met my end not once, but twice, before for that very reason. Not an experience I wish to repeat, I assure you."

Pettigrew nodded. "That last one was a close one, Sarge."

"Yes," Moffitt said with a sigh. "It was. But, it is a chance I'm willing to take again. Can't be avoided, I'm afraid. I'll just have to be more careful this time."

Dietrich growled in frustration and looked at Bader who was lying beside of him, similarly tied, but still unconscious. Dietrich's irritation was taken new heights when realized that the junior officer was still clothed.

"It really is quite unorthodox to waylay us, Sergeant, only to steal only my clothing."

Looking at Bader, Pettigrew snorted. "Would have taken his uniform, too, but he's just a runt. Not my size." He jerked his head at Moffitt. "On the other hand, Captain, you look like you're a perfect fit for Moffitt."

Moffitt looked down at his newly acquired uniform. "Well, the trousers could be an inch or so longer. But really, for off the peg, not bad at all. How do I look, Tully?''

Pettigrew looked amused as Moffitt did a little half turn. "Good enough to shoot, Sarge.''

"Excellent, exactly the look for which I was going!" Moffitt continued to grin at Dietrich. "And besides, it wasn't really just only the uniform that I wanted to borrow, Captain. I needed your identification tag, a German sidearm, and your papers. The Kubelwagon also was a consideration."

"I see.''

"Very convenient that you, erm, happened along, Captain."

"Convenient." Narrowing his eyes, Dietrich looked from man to man. "Let me guess, Sergeant. You are on your way to attempt to rescue Troy and Hitchcock."

"Now whatever gave you that idea, Captain?" Pettigrew asked in his odd drawl.

Dietrich looked accusingly at Moffitt. "It was you that contacted my camp, wasn't it? Pretending to be a German officer to say that you had Troy and Hitchcock in custody."

The Englishman said nothing but managed to convey volumes with a smug look.

"And I would say that they are most likely actually imprisoned as they are not with you." Dietrich looked over at Bader who was beginning to stir. "Idiot," he spat at him.

Bader's eyelids fluttered. "What, Herr Hauptmann?"

"You spoke to this Englander and believed that he was a German officer. That makes you an idiot, Bader."

"What? I don't understand. I have never ever seen these men before." Bader still confused, tried to focus his eyes on Moffitt. Then he looked at Dietrich, lying nearly naked in the sand beside of him. "Herr Hauptmann Dietrich, where is your clothing?"

Dietrich groaned. Moffitt and Pettigrew started laughing so hard that Dietrich thought that they might actually cry.

"This man, in front of you, is Sergeant Moffitt of the Rat Patrol. You may notice that he is wearing my clothing as I am not. Because you let him walk us right into an ambush, Bader!" Dietrich had tried to keep his tone calm and patient and he had failed miserably. By the end of the last sentence, his voice had almost risen to a roar.

"I don't understand." Bader looked at Moffitt again.

Moffitt gave him a little wave. "_Ich bin Herr Hauptmann Greuber. Wie geht's, Leutnant Bader?"_

"Oh,'' was all that Bader said, seeming to finally realize exactly where he had gone wrong.

At that point, Dietrich felt his anger ebbing away. He did not even have the energy to be embarrassed any longer. "His German is good, but not that good," he told Bader wearily.

Bader looked mortified. "I thought that perhaps he was from Bavaria, Herr Hauptmann?"

That comment alone earned Bader another round of side splitting laughter from their Allied captors.

"_Gott in Himmel_," said Dietrich finally, turning his face away from the two men who were still laughing like hyenas. He could not bear to look at them anymore, though the sounds of their amusement still rang in his ears.

Dietrich found that he had the sudden urge to bury his head in the sand until the war was over.

"Good help is apparently hard to find," said Moffitt, a wicked tone in his voice. "But, not to worry, Captain. We'll be back for you. Tonight, if all goes well. And at that time, upon my honor, I do solemnly promise to return everything that we've taken from you."

Bitterly, Dietrich wondered how Moffitt was planning on returning his dignity.


	2. Infiltration

As Moffitt hit another bump, Tully decided that his spine couldn't take it anymore.

"Want me to drive?" Tully asked casually, hoping that he wasn't going to offend Moffitt.

"Well, no arguments that the ride would be a bit smoother, but unfortunately, no." Moffitt slowed the car into a park.

"I thought you said that you wanted to drive." Tully asked, puzzled as to why they had come to a stop before reaching their destination.

Moffitt got out of the car and leaned into the back of it, rummaging around in one of the packs that he had placed on the back seat.

"Oh, it's not so much a want, Tully. Trust me when I say that." Moffitt pulled out a length of rope and tested it between his hands. "It's more about need." Tilting his head, Moffitt looked at him. "It would hardly do to have a German officer driven by his prisoner, would it?"

"Oh," was all Tully could say as Moffitt uncoiled the rope from around his hands. Tully knew where this was going.

"Sorry Tully, it would have worked out better if Dietrich's driver had been your size." Moffitt held the rope up to Tully.

Obligingly, Tully got out of the Kubelwagon and put his hands behind his back.

Moffitt expertly lashed Tully's hands and then squinted at his handiwork. "Too tight?"

Tully knew that meant, ''Can you get out of them if you need to?'' Moving his arms and then flexing his shoulders, Tully nodded his head. "Yep, just fine. I guess you want me to get in the back now?"

"If you wouldn't mind, Tully." Moffitt politely held the door open.

Tully got in the back seat and Moffitt closed the door. Then, he went around and got back in the driver's seat and started the car. Looking back at Tully, he grinned. " Good thing that we had so much rope, eh?"

"Guess so," said Tully. He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. "Dietrich looked like he would have killed his leutnant if he hadn't been tied up."

"Yes, I was rather afraid that we were going to step in to save the boy's life if Dietrich was not sufficiently restrained." Moffitt chuckled and put the car in gear. "Can't say as I blame Dietrich, though."

Neither could Tully. In his estimation, Bader had been lucky.

If Hitch had done something that stupid, Troy would have chewed through his ropes to get at him.

* * *

><p>Obviously having decided to make the best of a bad situation, Hitch had made friends with some of his fellow prisoners.<p>

Troy sat in the shade of one of the buildings and watched as Hitch and his new buddies tossed a baseball around. Troy smoked and waited. In the meantime, he asked himself several times where the hell Tully and Moffitt were.

Half a pack of cigarettes and two hours later, Troy was about to call it a day. He got up and dusted himself down.

But just then, the camp gates parted. Troy turned his head to look at what had come through them. It was a standard Nazi Kubelwagon, painted the same dull yellow as all the rest. However, at the sight of it, Troy felt his adrenaline level rise.

Could it be, Troy wondered?

When the driver got out and returned the salute of one of the guards, Troy knew that it was.

"Hey, Hitch!" Troy yelled. "Get over here.''

Hitch tossed the ball to the next man and trotted over to where Troy was standing. "Yeah, Sarge? What's up?"

Troy looked over at the Kubelwagon and watched as a tall lanky German officer with dark hair started to talk to the camp commandant.

Hitch's eyes followed Troy's and his face lit up.

Troy grinned. "I think that the cavalry has just arrived.''

* * *

><p>Tully bowed his head, trying to his best to play the part of the beaten prisoner.<p>

It sure as hell wasn't easy, he told himself, as he let the guards manhandle him around. What was even harder for Tully to take was when Moffitt had treated him like he was lower than dirt. But, if he put his own personal feelings about the whole thing aside, Tully thought that Moffitt was doing a real good job of playing the German officer. The guy had it down, even to the salute and the snotty stick up the rear attitude. Looking at Moffitt and listening to him, it was almost too easy for Tully to forget Moffitt was really Moffitt and not some Kraut jack ass.

Even still, Tully wondered if the camp commandant was really going to believe that Moffitt was Dietrich. Watching them talk, Tully couldn't help but to feel nervous and antsy. All it would take was one wrong move or even one wrong word. If that happened, instead of rescuing Troy and Hitch, he and Moffitt would end up prisoners, right along with them. And that, Tully knew, was if they were lucky. If they weren't lucky, they'd probably end up dead.

Moffitt especially, as he was the one parading around in the German uniform as if he'd been born in it.

Tully continued to watch the scene unfolding in front of him, almost afraid to breath. It didn't help ease his mind any that Moffitt and the other guy were talking in German. Tully had no idea what they were saying and he didn't like it. If something went wrong, he'd probably be the last to know. He tried to concentrate on their gestures and the expressions on their faces. Next time they did this, resolved Tully, he'd make sure that he and Moffitt agreed on some sort of signal that would let him know when things just might be going south. Tully wasn't so sure that things weren't going that direction at that particularly moment. The commandant had narrowed his eyes at Moffitt. Then, he stared him up and down. There was something about the look that the man gave Moffitt that put Tully's teeth on edge.

Moffitt didn't seem bothered and Tully took it as a good a sign as anything that all was still going along to plan. When the man in charge of the camp finally laughed and offered his hand to Moffitt, Tully finally breathed a sigh of relief. Everything was going to be all right, Tully told himself. This kind of stuff was easy for Moffitt. No matter what Dietrich had said, Moffitt's German was more than good enough. Tully thought about how many Krauts he'd seen who had believed that Moffitt was one of them until it was too late. And it didn't hurt that Moffitt spent more time in a German uniform than he did his own.

Just the same, Tully tested his ropes again to make sure that they were loose enough to get out of quickly if he needed to do so. From his experience, Tully knew that you could never be too careful. Even when things looked good.

And especially when Moffitt was involved.

* * *

><p>"And who do we have here?" Hauptmann Greuber, hands behind his back, walked a half circle around Tully.<p>

Moffitt beamed. "Private Tully Pettigrew. I found him, wandering alone, not far from here. I believe that you have two of his friends in your custody.''

Greuber shook his head. "Who? There are many men here, Hauptmann Dietrich.''

"Pettigrew is, or shall I say was, a member of the damned Rat Patrol." Moffitt gave Greuber a shrewd look. "I have heard that you have two of them here in your camp. Sergeant Troy and Private Hitchcock?''

"Ah. I see. Word must travel quickly in the desert.'' Greuber looked disgusted. "If so, it would be the only thing.''

Moffitt shrugged. "I have been here long enough to have connections, Hauptmann Greuber. And my interest in the Rat Patrol is well known." Moffitt pulled a face, trying to channel all of the frustration that he knew that they had caused Dietrich. "And well founded.''

"Yes, word of the infamous Rat Patrol had traveled all the way to Berlin.'' Greuber studied Tully. "This man does not look nearly as dangerous as his reputation would have one believe. Though, Troy and Hitchcock hardly looked menacing either, without their jeep and their guns.''

"Appearances can be very deceiving,'' Moffitt murmured.

"Oh, as I well know. There is often more to a man that what may meet the eye. It is amazing what can be concealed, eh?'' Greuber fixed Moffitt with a look that made Moffitt wonder if his game was over before it even had started.

Not letting the man put him off, Moffitt plunged onwards. "I found Pettigrew stranded."

Appraisingly, Greuber looked at Tully. "I am surprised at the good condition that he is in, Herr Hauptmann. There is not a mark on him. On either of you, in fact. I would have thought that he would have put up more of a fight?'' Greuber frowned. "The other two, Hitchcock and Troy, certainly did not come so easily.''

The words left Moffitt's mouth before he could stop them, giving a voice to the concerns that were top most in his mind. "Are they all right?''

Inwardly, Moffitt winced, waiting for Greuber to question not only why Tully was still in one piece, but why a man who wanted the Rat Patrol dead would be so concerned about their well being. To Moffitt's relief, the question didn't come.

"Oh, they are fine!'' Greuber waived an angry hand at Moffitt and then glared at Tully. "Not a hair harmed on their fine heads. But a dozen of the men who attempted to capture those two are dead.''

"I am very sorry to hear that,'' Moffitt said, even though he was not. "It certainly was my luck that Pettigrew came very easily."

"Luck? There is no such thing," Greuber scoffed. "What is your secret, Herr Hauptmann?''

"You are new to the desert, but certainly you can appreciate that a day in the sun without water, shelter, or hope of rescue will break even the fiercest of men.'' Moffitt watched as Tully dropped his head, as if on cue. "If only they were always so cooperative, eh?''

"Amen! Why do they always have to be so difficult, Dietrich?'' Greuber sighed.

"It is too bad about the damage that they did to our men and all of the trouble that they have given you, Hauptmann. I too have suffered many losses because of them,'' Moffitt said gravely, one officer to another. Moffitt took a moment to wonder exactly how many men the four of them had actually cost Dietrich, week over week. Moffitt doubted if even Dietrich could keep count.

"That is true with all of these damned Allies! Like blood thirsty animals! And then, even when captured, they still try to fight. At least until you persuade them that it is not worth it. Sometimes, even that is not easy.''

Moffitt could well imagine what the man meant by persuasion. He pursed his lips and said nothing.

Greuber continued on with his rant. "The worst are the Englanders. It is almost as if they enjoy suffering. Stubborn bastards and their stiff upper lips!''

Moffitt couldn't help but to let a bit of a smile escape at that one. "They are insufferable, are they not?''

"Indeed! You obviously know of what I speak. Though I am not surprised by that.''

His heart skipping a beat, Moffitt wondered if something that he had said, or the way that he had said it, had blown his cover. "And why is that, Hauptmann Greuber?'' he asked cautiously.

"The fourth man of the Rat Patrol. He is an Englander is he not?'' Greuber looked at Moffitt. "Speaking of the fourth man . . . We have three of the Rat Patrol between the two of us. Where is the other one?''

"Dead,'' said Moffitt, reporting his own death with a certain morbid measure of satisfaction. "From a wound sustained in the skirmish that led to the capture of the two that you have in your custody."

"Are you sure about that, Dietrich?" Greuber asked. "I did not receive any reports that one of the men had been injured during the altercation."

"You may want to check the source of your reports, then.'' Moffitt snapped, offended that Greuber would doubt the report of his death, no matter how premature. "Indeed, I saw his body! Trust me, I would recognize him as soon as I would recognize myself."

Greuber still looked doubtful.

In what Moffitt felt was truly a flash of brilliance, he handed over his own identification tags. "Here, see it with your own eyes if you must.''

"Sergeant Jack Moffitt.'' Greuber studied Moffitt's tags. "Obviously, you are correct, Herr Hauptmann. I do seem to have gotten bad information. My apologies for the question, but it is just that I have heard that these Desert Rats are so clever. I thought that the report of his death was a part of one of their schemes.''

"They were clever. Especially the Englander,'' Moffitt said, unable to resist. "But clever is no match for a bullet to the chest.'' Moffitt smiled thinly and hoped that he wouldn't have to prove his own statement wrong any time soon.

Greuber finally nodded. "I am sure that you will want these back.'' He offered Moffitt his own tags.

"Yes, thank you. Morbid, I know, and certainly not condoned by the Geneva Convention." Moffitt shrugged and slipped his identification back into his pocket. "But I could not resist taking them as a memento."

"We are a long way from Geneva here, Herr Hauptmann. Besides, I am sure that no one would blame you considering all of the trouble that those vermin have caused the Reich. From what I've heard, as long as even one of them is on the loose, no one is safe."

Nodding, Moffitt grimaced. "That is the truth." He caught Tully's eye and gave him the briefest of smiles. "I know that better than anyone."

Greuber leaned in towards Moffitt and lowered his voice. "Actually, I've been a bit nervous about having only two of them. Sounds absurd, I know, but I've been waiting for the other two to burst through at any time to attempt a rescue."

"That is very wise of you, Greuber.'' Moffitt nodded. "It is a very valid concern. Men that have not considered them with the same care have ended up dead."

"So I have also heard.''

"But, with three in custody, and the fourth dead, I would say that there is not much to worry about. The war for them is over, finally.'' Moffitt ran a hand over his face. "Finally,'' he repeated. "There were days when I thought that we would never best them.''

"It is a cause for much celebration.'' Greuber looked at Tully who was surrounded by camp guards. "Perhaps you would care for dinner, Herr Hauptmann? I brought some excellent cognac from Germany. And I do not think that a celebratory drink would be out of order?"

As the invitation to dine and drink did not quite fit into his carefully laid plans, Moffitt raised his hand in gracious protest. ''Oh, I would not want to trouble you, Hauptmann Greuber.''

"It is no trouble. Besides it will be dark soon. It would be much safer for you to stay the night. And I am sure that you would like to spend some time with the prisoners before you leave them in my care?''

"Yes, I do want to spend some time with them, but not at the expense of inconveniencing you. Getting information from them is of course my first priority. I have little appetite for anything but that at the moment."

When Greuber frowned at him, Moffitt briefly wondered how much more he could possibly protest without offending the man. Something told him that at some point he was going to have to acquiesce, as awful as the thought was.

"All business, aren't you, Dietrich? I had heard that you were a dedicated soldier. But as admirable as that is, you know what they say about too much work and no play.'' Greuber fixed Moffitt with a look. "Though I doubt if anyone has ever called you dull, Dietrich.''

Moffitt thought about what Greuber had just said and wondered if he had translated it wrong. Trying not to give the odd statement too much thought, Moffitt cleared his throat and decided to try a different tact. "Trust me, Hauptmann Greuber. You will want to save your cognac. When it is gone, there will be no more.'' Moffitt made a face and then sighed, turning his eyes heavenward. "We cannot even get decent coffee in this god forsaken place.''

"Oh, for goodness sakes do not be silly, man!'' Greuber protested, shaking his head. ''Dietrich, I insist. Let me have the honor of celebrating with you. You would be doing me a great service by allowing me the company."

Still Moffitt hesitated. However, he could see the merits of breaking Troy and Hitch out of the camp under the cover of darkness. Then there were the other prisoners to be considered. It was unlikely that Troy would budge a foot without them and Moffitt couldn't blame him. It would all be much easier to accomplish it all in the dark of the night than it would be in the early evening.

Perhaps, considered Moffitt, if he thought that he could actually survive dinner as Dietrich it might well be the best course to take.

"Come now, Dietrich! Such dedication is admirable, but you must eat. Besides, it is not like the prisoners are going anywhere, is it?"

No, Moffitt thought, it didn't look as though they were. At least not in the immediate future.

"The delay will make the experience even more satisfying for you.'' Greuber continued to wheedle, looking again at Tully and then back at Moffitt. "Enjoyment delayed is typically enjoyment increased.''

Moffitt tried to ignore that there was something about that particular statement and about Greuber in general that was making his skin crawl and his stomach turn. He hoped that he still had some appetite left by the time that dinner was served.

"I have not had the opportunity to meet many other Wehrmacht officers here, especially not one with your experience in Afrika.'' Greuber spread his hands wide and smiled broadly. "Do not dishonor me by making me beg.''

Hesitating for just a moment more, Moffitt made it apparent that Greuber's insistence had finally swayed him to accept. "You are right. I cannot resist such a kind offer, Hauptmann Greuber. I would be honored to accept your invitation.'' Looking at Tully, Moffitt inclined his head. "Of course, I will want to interrogate the prisoners later."

"I would not blame you if wanted to kill the prisoners later.'' Greuber chuckled. "Certainly, it is whatever you want to do. We can put that one with the others, if you like, until you are ready to deal with them."

"Yes, put him with the others. He can wait. I will deal with him and his comrades soon enough.'' Switching to English, he spoke to Tully. "Tell the others that I am here, Private. And that I will be very much looking forward to seeing them after dinner. Especially your leader, Sergeant Troy,'' Moffitt said, injecting as much malice into his tone as he possibly could.

Tully spat on the ground at Moffitt's feet. "Go to hell, Captain. I ain't going to tell them a thing. You can deliver your own messages, you dumb Kraut.''

"Shut up, you insubordinate dog!'' Greuber yelled at Tully in English before backhanding him. Greuber barked his orders to the guards, demanding that they remove Tully from their sight.

Tully tried to lunge at Moffitt but the guards got to him first. Tully was still swearing when he went down. Moffitt tried not to wince when Tully received a blow to the face and he wished that Tully hadn't decided to play his part quite so convincingly. Yet another man drew back his fist to pound Tully in the gut.

"Enough!'' Moffitt ordered, not able to bear being a silent witness to Tully's abuse if there was any chance at all that he could stop it.

Tully, the guards, and Greuber all looked at Moffitt in surprise.

Despite the fact that he was not their commander, Greuber's guards were obviously well trained enough to obey the orders of any German officer. Moffitt thought that he should at least appreciate that. However, while they had initially obeyed him, their eyes were on their master, waiting for him to either confirm Moffitt's command or to override it.

Moffitt slid his eyes to Greuber and shrugged. "I want to have the pleasure of breaking him, Hauptmann Greuber.'' Momentarily, he looked petulant. "Your men are ruining all of my fun.''

Greuber considered for a moment. Then, he roared with hearty laughter. "I completely understand, Dietrich. I would feel the same way, should the circumstances be reversed.''

"Thank you. Your understanding is very much appreciated.'' Looking at Tully's unfocussed eyes and bleeding face, it was not hard for Moffitt to make that statement sound heartfelt. Wordlessly, he tried to apologize to his partner in crime for not doing more to prevent the beating.

"Take Pettigrew to the barracks with the others! He will get what his coming to him soon enough,'' Greuber ordered.

The guards obeyed. Dragging a semi-conscious Tully between two of them, they set off in the direction of the long low buildings that ringed the sides of the camp.

As he watched them, Moffitt couldn't help to feel that Tully's current state was his fault. In order to hide the guilt that he felt, Moffitt withdrew a cigarette from the packet that had been Dietrich's. He accepted the light that Greuber offered him.

Taking a drag of the cigarette, Moffitt narrowed his eyes against the sting of the acrid smoke and the burn it caused in a throat and lungs unaccustomed to such abuse. He offered a cigarette to Greuber because as Moffitt knew from ample opportunity to observe Troy and the real Dietrich, it was what smokers did.

Accepting it, Greuber lit it with another flick of his lighter. He sighed when he exhaled. "My apologies for the enthusiasm of my men, Dietrich. I do not like to curb it too much as I find it creates a certain . . . compliance in the prisoners. I hope that you understand?''

Moffitt swallowed his growing distaste for the man as he exhaled a thin plume of smoke. "I can understand that, Greuber. Though, I am glad that you understand the situation from my perspective.''

"Of course. I think that we understand each other quite well. And I am sure that by the end of the evening that we will understand each other even better.''

What Moffitt did already understand was that his new acquaintance was a strange fellow with a sadistic bent who could understand and speak English. All useful information, Moffitt filed it away for later to be used to his advantage if the need arose.

It was, Moffitt told himself, all that he wanted to know about Greuber.


	3. Deception

Dinner, such that it was, had been served. After it, the prisoners had been confined to the barracks for the evening.

Troy looked around at the sorry lot of them. Most of the men had obviously been in captivity, either in this camp or another, for a while. They were abused, malnourished, and dirty. Some had permanent injuries and some were struck by debilitating illness. They hadn't been treated well, that was for sure, Troy knew. He'd heard the hushed whispered rumors of what went on the place and the evidence of it confronted him everywhere he looked.

It made Troy sick. Though he felt that he was hiding it pretty well, Troy wanted out of the camp just as badly as Hitch and the rest of them did. Being in a POW camp, especially one with a commandant as crazy and cruel as Greuber was rumored to be didn't bring Troy any good memories.

But with any luck, thought Troy, none of them were going to be sticking around for long. If all went according to Moffitt's plan, whatever that might be, he and Hitch should be out of the rotten place within hours. And with them, Troy planned to take the rest of prisoners.

Troy wondered if Moffitt had counted on that when he had been making his plans. Troy had to assume that Moffitt had. He hoped that he was right. Troy was very aware, painfully aware, that their chances of a successful escape depended on just how good Moffitt's plan was.

Troy thought about that and lit a cigarette. Not that he didn't trust Moffitt. Troy would have just liked it better if it had been his plan. Heck, he would have felt better even if he at least had some idea of what Moffitt was up to. But, whatever Moffitt had up the sleeve of his German uniform, it had least gotten him into the camp along with Tully.

It was, Troy told himself, a promising step in the right direction.

Tully stirred on the bunk and Troy shifted quickly to look at him. His chair pitched wildly, one leg broken and shorter than the other. It was in as much disrepair as everything else that Troy had seen in the camp. Nothing but the worst for the guests of Herr Hauptmann Greuber thought Troy. Troy looked for something to use as a shim for the broken chair before he busted his head open.

Not finding anything apparent, Troy steadied himself the best that he could and then turned his attention back to Tully. "How you feeling?" Troy asked sympathetically. He held a canteen of water out to Tully.

Groaning, Tully pushed himself up on his elbows. He took the canteen and drank from it gratefully. "I feel like I got run over by a locomotive. Damn Krauts."

"You're going to have one heck of a black eye, Tully," said Hitch, who had obviously had been waiting just like Troy had for any signs of life from Tully.

Troy looked up at Hitch. The kid actually sounded envious of Tully's shiner. But then Hitch liked to work the brave war hero sympathy angle with the girls, so Troy found that he really wasn't surprised by that. "We can get you one of those, too, Hitch, if you really want one," Troy teased. "So, Tully, now that you're awake, tell me. What's Moffitt's plan? The suspense is killing me."

"He's pretending to be Dietrich," Tully said as if there was nothing to it.

"What?'' Hitch asked, his mouth dropping open. "Really? Dietrich?''

"Yep. Looked like it was going pretty well for him, too. He's gotten all buddy-buddy with the commandant," Tully said, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk. He stopped and held his head.

"Easy there, Tully," said Troy, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder to steady him. "So, Moffitt is masquerading as Dietrich, huh? Well, that's one that we haven't tried before.''

It was just like Moffitt to come up with something that sounded so truly insane that it would probably work, thought Troy. It had been obvious when he had seen Moffitt get out of the Kubelwagon that he had had been giving his standard ''look at me, I'm a German'' performance. But hearing that Moffitt was pretending to be their favorite German was something that Troy couldn't have predicted in a million years.

Troy liked it as there was something just so damned poetic about it. Leave it to Moffitt, Troy thought, with more than a little admiration. The guy was always raising hell with style.

"Well, Dietrich would be over here like a shot if he knew that we were in this camp, so that part of the plan is really good," said Hitch, thinking out loud. "But what's going to happen if Dietrich actually shows up here?"

Tully gave them a slow grin. "Well, he was a little tied up the last time that we saw him."

Hitch popped a bubble. "With what?"

"He's actually tied up. Moffitt contacted him, pretending to be the Kraut that runs this camp. He got Dietrich all hot and bothered because he told them that you were here. We ambushed them on their to the camp."

"Yeah?"

"We left them tied up where we left the jeep."

"Them?'' Troy asked. "Dietrich wasn't alone?''

"Nope. Guess he's got a new lieutenant.'' Tully gave them a slow smile. "The little guy was a big help, actually. He led Dietrich right into Moffitt's trap.''

"Well,'' said Hitch, looking at Troy. "I guess we'll never get to meet him, then. Dietrich's probably going to kill him.''

"Yep, the Captain was plenty mad," Tully confirmed.

"Why aren't you playing German too, Tully?'' Troy had to wonder why Tully was still in a US Army uniform and getting his ass beaten.

"The plan was to take both of their uniforms, their papers, and their car. And we got most of it. But damn it all if Dietrich's driver wasn't the littlest fellow I've ever seen in either army." He gingerly shook his head.

"Ah,'' Troy said. "Well, that's too bad. You'll have to pick on someone your own size next time.''

Tully touched the skin under his eye tentatively and winced in agreement. "I would have thought that the Kraut Army had a height requirement or something to get in." A contemplative expression on his face, Tully reached for a matchstick. "Was pretty funny, though, Moffitt leaving Dietrich in the middle of the desert in only his drawers."

Troy looked at Hitch. Hitch looked at him. Suddenly, they both busted out laughing. Troy wasn't sure which was funnier: Tully's disgust at the size of Dietrich's driver or the idea that Moffitt had taken Dietrich's uniform and left him out in the desert nearly naked. Troy laughed so hard that he almost tipped his chair over again. Only the same fast reflexes that made Hitch such a great driver saved Troy from hitting the ground.

Troy tried to collect himself the best that he could. He had almost succeeded when Hitch piped up again.

"Well, I guess Dietrich's not going to have to worry about tan lines, right?" Hitch managed before doubling up with more laughter.

And once again, Troy found himself laughing like an idiot at the image that Hitch had conjured up for them. When Troy noticed that the other prisoners staring at them with dull eyes, he stopped laughing.

Tully gave them a lopsided smile. "Moffitt told me to tell you all that he'd see you after dinner, Sarge. Said he wanted to have a word or two.''

"So, Moffitt's going to have dinner with the captain and then tell him that he wants to interrogate us," Troy said thoughtfully.

Tully nodded.

Troy had to admit it again, it was a good plan.

"Yeah, you first. That's pretty much it. We brought a bunch of guns, grenades, and other things that explode with us. So as long as you can get to them, you should be able to make a pretty good bang."

"Perfect.'' Troy motioned for Hitch and Tully to lean in closer to him. "So Moffitt has his plan and here's ours: Blow the camp to pieces and get all of these guys out of here."

Tully and Hitch nodded enthusiastically.

Troy jerked his head toward the window of the barracks. "There's two trucks parked not too far away from here. Right around the side of the building, I saw them this afternoon. You should have plenty of room to get everyone in them. When the action starts, get all of these guys out of here and into the trucks. We're not leaving anyone behind." Troy looked at his two men. "Hitch, that's all you. Understand?''

"Yep, I'm on it, Sarge," Hitch said.

"Tully, I'll come back for you as soon as Moffitt springs me. You can help me raise some ruckus. Sound good?''

Tully nodded and looked pleased with his role in the plan. Troy was not surprised as Tully generally looked happy whenever he got to blow things up. When Tully's smile widened, Troy knew that Tully had probably figured out how he was going to work the bazooka into the equation.

"Some of these guys are going to need some help getting out," Troy said, his eyes lingering on one man in particular that was missing most of a leg. "You two are going to have to talk to everyone and pair the ones that are better off with the ones that need some help. You can start getting organized when the guard comes for me."

The door opened, as if on cue, and one of the camp's burly guards appeared.

Troy looked at Hitch and Tully, wordlessly checking their understanding and their commitment to their roles in the plan that he had just outlined. They nodded back.

The guard called Troy's name.

Troy got up slowly. "Yeah?'' he responded.

"Sergeant Troy," said the guard, pointing his gun at Troy and then motioning to the door. "Herr Hauptmann Dietrich wishes to see you."

Troy didn't miss the look of blood thirsty glee on the guard's face. From the rise of the whispering among the other prisoners, they hadn't missed it either.

"Good luck, mate," one of them called. "Don't let the Jerry bastards get you down!"

Several others chimed in with their best wishes or encouragement. It all sounded hollow to Troy. It was pretty obvious that they didn't have much faith that he was going to have any of the luck that they were wishing him.

Troy, squaring his shoulders, returned the sentiments with a curt nod of his head. He glared at the guard, staring him in the eyes until the guy looked away. Without any prodding, Troy walked straight and tall out of the door of the prisoners' barracks and towards the commandant's building. The guard a safe distance behind him, Troy allowed himself a small grin.

For once, it was going to be really good to see Dietrich.

* * *

><p>Moffitt had found himself in a small room of very obvious purpose.<p>

Moffitt felt that he had to give some credit to Greuber where credit was due. The interrogation room was kitted out with amenities that would make even the Gestapo green with envy. Unable to help himself, Moffitt fingered the chains that hung from the ceiling. At the touch of the cold steel, memories usually confined to only terrorizing him in the worst of his nightmares clawed their way to the top of Moffitt's mind.

While Greuber's cognac had been just as excellent as advertised, he felt it quickly curdling in his stomach. Moffitt took in, and then let out, a deep breath. To distract himself from his less than pleasant recollections, he thought about his dinner with Greuber.

It had been interesting. True to Greuber's word, Moffitt understood much more about the man after their evening together, including why Greuber had been sacked from a prestigious post in Berlin and shipped off to the desert. And while it was far more information than he had would have ever have cared to have known in a normal situation, Moffitt was glad to have the knowledge for his current purposes. Luckily, due to a pragmatism born out of years of exposure to peoples who had different outlooks than his own, Moffitt had never been one to be too squeamish about most things.

After all, to Moffitt, an advantage was an advantage and his personal opinions hardly needed to play into it. He had gone so far as to play into Greuber, if only just enough, to build a certain . . .

Moffitt hesitated before he found the right word. The word that he finally decided upon was ''understanding.''

Moffitt felt that the little work that he had done to build said understanding between them could potentially assist in facilitating any future needed manipulation of Greuber if the need arose. As an added bonus, his deception had also allowed him to glean information on the current activities of certain high ranking Nazi officials in Berlin. Moffitt was certain that Allied High Command would be glad to have it.

However, Moffitt did have to pause to wonder what the real Dietrich would think about the artistic liberties that he had taken with his persona.

It was enough to make Moffitt snicker.

As if leaving poor Dietrich in his knickers had not been enough, Moffitt had done even more to add insult to injury. There was going to bloody hell to pay if Greuber lived to tell the tale and Dietrich happened to hear about it. Moffitt resolved to straighten out any misunderstanding that he had deliberately created with Greuber before he left.

Or, he would just have to make sure that Greuber was dead. A cold smile came to settle on Moffitt's lips. Either option would do.

After all, Moffitt had promised to return everything that he had borrowed from Dietrich. And as a gentleman, his intent had been to return everything in at least as good of a condition as he had found it.

Moffitt gladly extended that promise to include Dietrich's identity and reputation.

* * *

><p>When the door finally opened, Moffitt turned, assuming the character of Hauptmann Hans Dietrich once again.<p>

Greuber stood framed in the doorway.

"Herr Hauptmann," Greuber clicked his heels and gave a bow, before stepping into the room. "I give you Sergeant Samuel Troy of the Rat Patrol." His eyes glimmered. "But then introductions are not necessary here, are they? My understanding is that you both know each other. Quite well.''

"Quite well,'' Moffitt confirmed, placing an answering gleam in his eye. "And we'll get to know each other even better before this evening is over,'' Moffitt said with underlying hint of malice that would likely transcend the language barrier. His eyes flicked over Troy as he stood in the doorway.

Troy glared at him and seeing the expression filled Moffitt with joy. He had so missed Troy and his evil looks.

Greuber's eyes travelled to the ceiling. "Would you like Troy placed in the chains? I can have the guards arrange that for you.''

From Troy's look of distaste, he had fully taken in the meaning of what Greuber had said without actually even understanding the words. Troy gave Moffitt a sidelong grimace.

"No, no, no,'' Moffitt said. ''If you could secure him to the chair, that would be fine. For the time being, at least. Let's see how the evening progresses.''

Greuber gave the order and Troy was shoved into a chair and his hands were cuffed behind him. When the guard was done, he handed the key to Moffitt.

"Well," said Moffitt, still speaking German while walking around Troy appraisingly, "as promised, Sergeant Troy seems little the worse for wear.''

"Yes, Troy is whole and well.'' Greuber laughed. "At least for the moment, eh, Dietrich?''

"As we discussed, so much better to begin with a healthy subject, no?" Moffitt asked, hoping to appeal to the sadistic side of Greuber. Which the very existence of the torture room would have definitively confirmed, even if their earlier conversations had not.

"That is what the Gestapo maintains. I must admit that I've found it to be true." Greuber had a look of barely contained excitement about him that Moffitt disliked intensely. "Would you allow me to stay? I'm always enjoyed watching the techniques of others. The experience comes in handy in my line of work."

If Greuber stayed, Moffitt could fully admit that he had no plan to account for that. He thought about how to deny the unexpected request without raising any suspicion. "Well . . .'' Moffitt began slowly, still not quite sure what he was going to say. "I would prefer it if you would not. I have spent much time waiting for this moment with Troy.''

"I assure you, you would barely notice that I was here,'' Greuber insisted.

"Indeed, I am sure, that in any other circumstance that would be true." Moffitt looked at Troy.

Troy looked at him. Moffitt knew that Troy was likely wondering what the hell was going on as he couldn't understand a word of the conversation. And that, thought Moffitt, was likely going to be absolutely for the best.

"What are you saying, Dietrich?'' Greuber asked.

Apparently, Troy wasn't the only one who still didn't understand the finer points of what he was saying, Moffitt realized. Or, not saying, as the case might be.

Taking a deep breath, Moffitt plunged past what Troy would likely consider acceptable measures in order to get rid of Greuber. "If you would not mind, I would like to be alone with Sergeant Troy." Moffitt fixed Greuber with a look that he hoped conveyed what he was not willing to put into words.

Greuber frowned, saying nothing.

Moffitt knew that he may well have some explaining to do later depending on how far he needed to take the ruse in order to make Greuber to leave. If it came to that, he rather hoped that Troy would understand.

If he didn't, Moffitt assumed that it was likely that Troy was going to punch him rather hard in the face, at least once.

But, if it got rid of Greuber and resulted in Troy and him getting out of the camp with Tully, Hitch, and the others, Moffitt was more than willing to take whatever Troy could dish out afterwards with all the good grace in the world.

Mentally apologizing to Troy, Moffitt put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed, hard, before he allowed his hand to trail down Troy's arm with a much gentler touch. That alone earned Moffitt a look of surprise, confusion, and anger from Troy.

Moffitt waited, maintaining eye contact with Greuber all the while. It kept him from having to look at Troy.

"Oh. I do understand," said Greuber, finally, with a nod and a smile.

It was about bloody time that the man got it, thought Moffitt. He removed his hand from Troy's arm. It didn't stop Troy from continuing to glare up at him.

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind if I sat in with you when you are speaking with the other two? Perhaps that will not be as . . . _personal_?" Greuber asked, the emphasis on his last word, again underlining his understanding.

As Moffitt prepared to dig himself in a little deeper, he was very glad, for once, that Troy did not speak any German. "You would be welcome to participate, in any way that you so choose, Herr Hauptmann," said Moffitt carefully. "The other two do not _interest_ me as Sergeant Troy does.''

Greuber studied Troy for a moment and then smiled. "I cannot fault you for that, Dietrich." Greuber turned to leave but paused at the door. "There will be two guards left outside of the door, if you need their assistance. Please let me know when you are done with this one and when we are ready for the next."

"Absolutely. Thank you, again, Hauptmann."

With a nod, Greuber left and the guards shut the door behind him. Moffitt knew that the man likely was still outside, his ear pressed against the wood.

Moffitt grinned at Troy. "Sergeant Troy, it is a pleasure to see you. Especially like this," Moffitt said, in German accented English.

Troy nodded a friendly greeting to Moffitt and returned the grin. "I wish that I could say the same, you Nazi bastard," he growled. "Get your filthy hands off of me!''

Moving over to Troy's chair, Moffitt bent down and unlocked the handcuffs. "Well, it is a pity that you are not happier to see me, Sergeant," Moffitt said. He looked at Troy who was flexing his newly freed wrists. "And I am sure that your opinion, unfortunately, will not change as the evening wears on."

"Go screw yourself, Dietrich," Troy spat, standing now in the center of the room. "And then you can go to hell!''

"I'd ask that you watch your mouth, Sergeant!" Moffitt let his voice rise in anger. Suddenly, he smacked his palm with his fist. It hurt. "Ouch,'' Moffitt mouthed. He made a face at Troy while he shook his hand to alleviate some of the pain that he had inflicted upon himself.

Troy could barely keep from laughing.

Rolling his eyes, Moffitt repeated the gesture. Troy joined into the activities with enthusiasm and kicked the chair over. They continued on for quite awhile, making much noise while yelling the most awful things that they could think of at each other. It had been, thought Moffitt, great fun.

Finally deciding that they had carried on enough, Moffitt nodded to Troy and they both stopped. Taking his seat again, Troy slumped over, hands behind his back. Moffitt went to the door and called for the guards. When the door opened, Moffitt noticed with relief that Greuber was nowhere to be seen.

As Moffitt had hoped, the man must have gotten bored with appeared to be the rather standard beating and wandered off back to his office.

"Take this one away. I will be ready for the next one. I think perhaps Hitchcock?" Moffitt said to the guard. He stood by the door as the two of the guards moved to lift the seemingly unconscious Troy up.

When their prisoner came to life, the guards were surprised.

Moffitt pushed the door closed and knocked one of the guards out cold with a perfectly placed blow to the back of the neck. Troy dispatched the other one with several bone cracking punches.

"It is good to see you, Moffitt," Troy said, getting his breath back. He squinted at Moffitt. "But what the hell was going on when I first came into the room?''

"All the world's a stage, Troy. And I am merely a player." Moffitt flashed Troy a brief smile. "One has to adapt one's performance to truly connect with one's intended audience, you know, if one wants one's performance to be meaningful.''

Just as Moffitt had hoped, Troy gave him a look that plainly said that he thought that Moffitt was as mad as a hatter and let the matter drop.

"So, shall I go and pay the good commandant a visit? Likely the last one that he will ever have?" Moffitt asked. As he was speaking, he withdrew Dietrich's Luger and checked it. As a credit to Dietrich, Moffitt admired how nicely he kept his firearm even in all the grit and grime of the desert. Satisfied, Moffitt replaced the gun back into its holster. He would be more than ready to shoot Greuber, if the need arose, as soon as Troy began to cause the excitement outside.

"Yep. Tully said that Dietrich's car is packed full of grenades and stuff?" Troy asked, as if he was reading Moffitt's mind.

"Yes, more than enough to blow entire the camp to Kingdom Come. And very fortunately for us, the Kubelwagon is still parked right outside of this building."

"Yeah, I saw it when the guard brought me up here. Nice and close, just like Tully said that it would be."

"Excellent.'' Moffitt grinned, thinking about well everything appeared to be working out for them. It was truly a luxury when things went as planned. Though, he paused to remind himself, they hadn't gotten away scot free just yet.

"Hitch is ready to get all of the other prisoners out of here and into the trucks. I'll go over and grab Tully as soon as I get out of here. Once we've caused enough damage, we'll all roll out of here. I'll meet you at the Kubelwagon when you're done with giving your final performance as Dietrich."

Moffitt moved to the door and opened it, checking the hallway. He looked back at Troy. "All clear. Shall we?"

"Let's," said Troy, with a huge smile.


	4. Execution

Moffitt knocked at the commandant's office door, very much hoping to find Greuber behind it.

"It's Dietrich," Moffitt called.

He looked back at Troy who was hiding in a doorway further down the hall. When there was no answer, Moffitt shrugged.

Troy grimaced, obviously not liking the delay. Moffitt knew that Troy was waiting for him to go into the office and shut the door. That would serve as Troy's cue to, under the cover of the desert night, begin blowing things up.

When there still was no response, Moffitt put his ear to the door. There was a conversation taking place, but it sounded one sided. He assumed that Greuber was on the phone, though he couldn't actually make out the words over the music that was playing.

Recalling a conversation from not all that long ago with another German officer about his nightly routines, Moffitt assumed that it might be Greuber's daily check in with Berlin. Moffitt thought back to that particular mission and realized its similarities to his current situation. He did hope that this ended better than that had. Moffitt admitted that he could do without a repeat of the absolutely spectacular beating that he had taken when the entire mission had gone sideways. The bright side of the whole affair, other than finding water for the Allies, had been that Troy had decided not to take the opportunity to shoot him.

Moffitt looked back at Troy with a fond grin.

Impatiently, Troy looked back at him like he was crazy. "Moffitt, come on!'' Troy ground out.

Moffitt raised his hand to knock a second time.

"Please come in," Greuber finally called out the instant before Moffitt's hand touched the wood.

With one last look at Troy, who gave him a thumb up before slipping off and out into the night, Moffitt went into Greuber's office.

The commandant was sitting behind his desk, apparently reading through some notes. "So, was your interaction with Troy satisfactory?" Greuber asked, not looking up.

"Yes, very satisfactory," said Moffitt, coming to perch on one corner of Greuber's large desk.

Greuber nodded. "Very good. You are ready to begin with the next one?"

Moffitt toyed with the lid of the cigarette box. "Yes. And you are ready to join me?''

Finally, Greuber looked up. He studied Moffitt. "Which one will it be next?''

"Hitchcock, I think."

Greuber nodded his approval. "Would you mind to wait for just a moment before we begin?''

"Why? I have waited for a very long time for this already.'' Moffitt did not have to fake the displeasure in his voice. Delaying was not part of their plan. What was part of the plan was getting Greuber to follow him to his little torture chamber. There, Moffitt could detain him and potentially kill him after Troy had gotten things started outside.

Greuber sadly and suddenly did not seem like he wished to play along. Moffitt found it odd, considering the man's interest earlier in the upcoming interrogation sessions.

"The prisoner will be waiting,'' Moffitt encouraged, hoping to build the same excitement in Greuber that he had exhibited at the prospect of Troy's mistreatment. "I have already sent for him.''

"As I have told you, there are some things that I need to care for before this goes any further." Greuber's face was expressionless. "After all, we have all night, do we not?''

"Yes, I suppose that is true.'' If nothing else, it would give Troy and the others more time to get organized, Moffitt thought.

However, there was something about the way that things were going that made the hair on Moffitt's neck prickle. Suddenly restless, he got up and went to the window. Unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, Moffitt saw a flash of khaki with a bush hat running into the prisoners' barracks. He wished Troy and the others the best of luck. For all of their sakes.

"Why are we waiting?'' Moffitt asked again, idly.

"There is someone else who would like to join us.''

Stifling his surprise, Moffitt turned back to Greuber. "Oh?"

Greuber nodded and offered Moffitt a cigarette. Moffitt had begun to understand why Troy and Dietrich smoked. It did wonders for one's nerves. He accepted the cigarette and the lighter. Practice making perfect, Moffitt lit the cigarette and then exhaled. He handed the lighter back to Greuber.

"And who will be joining us?" Moffitt asked.

Greuber blew a set of very impressive smoke rings, all the while looking at Moffitt. "Someone with an interest in the Rat Patrol that may rival yours."

"I am not sure that I know who you mean, Herr Hauptmann.'' Moffitt turned away again from Greuber, his mind racing. "I really do not wish to delay any longer. For anyone.''

"Oh, come now! Two years chasing them around the desert and you will not wait another hour or two? Perhaps you would like some tea while we wait?''

While Moffitt could not deny that a cup of tea would hit the spot, he realized that the question had not been in German. Instead, in it had been in English.

"Tea?'' Moffitt asked, in German.

Greuber shrugged. "It's as good of a way to pass the time as any. And I know how fond the English are of it.''

"Yes, they are. Their whole army runs on tea. Though, I think that the night may call for something stronger," Moffitt said honestly. "Some schnapps, perhaps?"

"Please, help yourself,'' Greuber invited, gesturing towards the sideboard.

"I do not mind if I do.'' Moffitt moved to the bottles that sat on a low table on the other side of the window. He removed the stopper of one and poured a healthy draught into one of the small glasses.

It was gone in a gulp.

Moffitt was beginning to plainly see the writing on the wall and it was enough to make adrenaline begin to course through his blood. As he poured a second measure of liquor for himself and another for Greuber, Moffitt weighed the downsides of shooting Greuber where he sat.

It could, concluded Moffitt, cause Troy and the others some problems. While he and Troy had thoroughly disabled every guard in the main building, a gunshot coming from the commandant's office would cause some commotion in the rest of the camp. As a result, an action that would help Moffitt potentially could very much hurt Troy and everyone else's chances for escape.

Feeling very much between Scylla and Charybdis, Moffitt handed Greuber his drink. "Why are you being so enigmatic, Greuber?''

Taking the drink, Greuber looked at Moffitt over the edge of the glass but did not answer his question. "Perhaps a toast?'' He nodded to Moffitt's second measure of liquor.

"Of course. To new relationships?'' Moffitt offered, raising his glass. "Ending quickly," Moffitt silently added. He smiled brightly at Greuber.

Greuber shook his head. "Perhaps, instead, to old ones, renewed?''

Moffitt considered for a moment and then raised his glass to Greuber before putting it to his lips.

"Speaking of old relationships . . ." Placing his empty glass on his desk, Greuber gave it a half turn.

"Yes?''

"An old friend of yours sends his regards.'' Greuber looked up at Moffitt.

Moffitt knew the answer, but asked the question anyway. "Who would that be?'' In a smooth and fluid movement, Greuber had pulled his gun and trained it on Moffitt before Moffitt had even gotten the question out.

"Hauptmann Hans Dietrich,'' Greuber said, his gun lined up to provide a direct shot to Moffitt's head.

"What?'' While Moffitt's performance had won him rave reviews, he knew that his curtain call was coming. But like a bad vaudeville act, he wasn't ready to leave the stage just yet. He looked Greuber in the eyes with a dead stare. "Whoever called you was an imposter! I am Hauptmann Hans Dietrich."

Greuber smiled and shook his head slowly. "Imposter or not, the Hans Dietrich that I just spoke with seems to think that you might actually be the `deceased' Sergeant Jack Moffitt.''

"Jack Moffitt is dead.'' Moffitt sincerely hoped that what he was saying wasn't going to prove to be some sort of ironic prophecy.

"At the moment, you look rather good for a dead man, Sergeant Moffitt. That of course, can change rapidly." Greuber clicked off the safety on his Kurtz.

"Let's hope that it doesn't, shall we?''

Moffitt contemplated drawing the Luger that he wore and wondered if he could shoot Greuber before the man shot him. A distraction, of course, would be helpful. Like an explosion, or lots of them. If he could hang on long enough, thought Moffitt, distractions should not be a problem. He should have several, courtesy of Troy.

He paused to wonder how Troy was getting on. Moffitt hoped that it was better than he was.

Greuber continued to speak as he got up from behind his desk. "I can tell you, Sergeant, Dietrich's dislike of you is very real. I must commend you for your ability to use that fact as the taproot of your plan. Actually, the irony that you borrowed Dietrich's identity in order to execute your plan is really quite amusing."

Moffitt ducked his head under the praise. "I do appreciate your kind words, Herr Hauptmann. One tries, you know.''

"Dietrich was not quite as amused at the situation in which you left him.'' Greuber shook his head and frowned.

"No,'' said Moffitt thoughtfully, not able to help smiling a bit at the memory of Dietrich irate and unclothed. "I doubt if he was.'' He looked back up at Greuber. "Would now be the time to tell you how much I've appreciated all of your hospitality, Herr Hauptmann? Especially if you, erm, could extend it to include not shooting me?'' Moffitt nodded to the gun.

"If you would throw your sidearm aside and put your hands up? I think that might be a good place to start."

Moffitt, with rather limited options presenting themselves, did as he was told.

"Honestly, Sergeant, I do not wish to kill you. It would be such a waste.'' Greuber's eyes once again lingered on Moffitt's. "You would make such a handsome pet!'' His lips twitched. "So clever! You could be taught a few tricks, I am sure.''

While not feeling particularly clever at the moment and not even wanting to think about what sort of tricks Greuber had in mind, Moffitt decided to continue to play the game that he had played thus far. "I have been told that I'm good company."

"I am not surprised by that. You are educated, charming, sophisticated, and an excellent conversationalist, even in a language that is not your own. Dinner with you is one of the highlights of my time in Afrika."

"Really, you are much too kind, Herr Hauptmann,'' Moffitt murmured, politely. "Dinner was excellent, I will agree.''

"Yes, it was.'' Greuber's expression suddenly turned irate. "If I discount the fact that you spent the entire duration of it lying to me!'' he suddenly screamed.

"Nothing personal, I assure you, Herr Hauptmann.'' Moffitt gave the man an apologetic sigh. "I do hope that you understand?''

"You misled me into believing that you were something that you were not. On several different levels, I think.'' Greuber took another step forward, murder in his eyes and his gun still pointed directly at Moffitt's head. "You led me to believe that we had interests in common. That there was a potential for a . . .''

The unfinished sentence hung in the air. Moffitt wasn't about to complete it. Greuber didn't seem to be inclined to do so, either.

Moffitt tried his best to look regretful and sound placating. "Some things are just not meant to be. But please believe me when I say that it's not you, Herr Hauptmann, it's absolutely me.''

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!'' Greuber smacked his hand on the desk in rage.

Moffitt had always suspected that that particular line never worked well upon anyone. This, he supposed, proved it. If such a thing was possible, the man looked even more insanely angry than he had even a few minutes prior.

"I told you things of the utmost sensitivity! This is not a joke, Moffitt! It is a very serious matter. For both of us."

Moffitt knew that Greuber had apparently realized that magnitude of some of the facts that he had rather chattily shared about some of the Fuhrer's best and brightest. Moffitt didn't blame the man for being upset. After all, Greuber's indiscretions had already gotten him sent to Africa. Moffitt figured that the Eastern Front had to be next. If the man was lucky.

"I told you things that I would never have told you if you had not misrepresented yourself to me! Things that no one else should know!'' Greuber's voice became a horrified whisper and his eyes slid from side to side. "Was that also part of the purpose of your deception?''

"My objective was merely to liberate Troy and Hitchcock. Anything else was merely collateral.'' Moffitt shook his head in the face of Greuber's panic and paranoia. "I am sorry if I have given you the wrong idea, Herr Hauptmann. But I'm not sure that you can really blame me for any misunderstandings.''

Greuber rounded on Moffitt, his eyes fully ablaze with the lunacy that had been barely concealed when Moffitt had first met him. "I am absolutely blaming you! You knew exactly what you were saying.''

"I don't recall saying or doing anything specifically outright that would have caused any type of misunderstanding. Except for of course, for claiming to be Dietrich. Any other conclusions to which you may have jumped about anything else may have well been your own."

"No!" Greuber countered, one eye lid twitching. "You purposefully deceived me!''

"Perhaps I just missed some of the finer points of our conversations? Completely possible, you know. Not my first language, obviously." Moffitt's smile was self depreciating. "Ask Dietrich if you don't believe me. He tells me at every chance that my German is not very good.''

"Bah! I hope that you realize what your lying and scheming has done.'' Greuber came closer to Moffitt, but continued to wisely stay just out of arm's reach. "You know that I am going to have to kill you, yes?''

"Let's not be hasty, Herr Hauptmann. I can keep a secret, if that's what you're worried about. Cross my heart and hope to die.'' Moffitt made a face when he realized what he had said. It was an unfortunate turn of phrase considering the circumstances.

"Yes." Greuber looked thoughtful. "If I could keep you from talking to anyone, perhaps I could keep you alive.''

Moffitt nodded. Alive sounded good to him.

"The risk however, may not be worth it."

Moffitt frowned. It was not the path down which he wanted Greuber going.

"But there are ways around that, certainly."

Moffitt nodded again, thinking that sounded much more promising.

"But none as fool proof as shooting you, unfortunately. Though . . .''

"Make up your mind, will you, Greuber?'' Moffitt finally snapped, breaking into what had amounted to be Greuber's conversation with himself. "Shoot me or don't shoot me. But for Christ's sake, man! All of this waffling is getting tiring.''

Greuber looked momentarily startled at Moffitt's outburst. Then his lips twisted. "I think that I shall shoot you, Sergeant. At least in the end,'' Greuber said slowly. "I do feel that you owe me at least a little amusement before that. It would be the very least that you could do, wouldn't you agree?''

Moffitt blinked. He knew all too well what Greuber considered amusement. "And what exactly did you have in mind, Herr Hauptmann?''

"My own pet rat! I would be the envy of the Afrika Korps, no?'' Greuber started to laugh.

"I don't know about that, Greuber. Everyone else would likely just feel sorry for you. Perhaps on both sides.'' Moffitt lowered one of his hands to scratch an itch behind his ear. "I have lots of bad habits. I'm not very obedient at times, I'm afraid, and I am rather stubborn. And I have been told that I talk too much.'' Moffitt grinned. "Hard to believe, I know.''

"I think that you left out that you are a liar, commando, and a saboteur, Sergeant Moffitt,'' Greuber said mildly. "And a thief.''

"All true, but only when the need dictates,'' Moffitt admitted.

Greuber eyed Moffitt, looking him up and down in a way that made a chill drag a finger along the length of Moffitt's spine. "But, however long the list of unsavory habits, I do not think that it would take me long to break you of them. Do you?''

Moffitt thought back to the chains hanging from the ceiling in the interrogation room. He recalled the small metal table that held the surgical instruments. And then there was whatever else to which Greuber's particular kinks might lead. Unfortunately, Moffitt didn't really have too much trouble imagining what that might be. It did not exactly fill him with anticipation.

Greuber nodded enthusiastically, as if he was reading Moffitt's mind. "There are a variety of ways to make you more cooperative, Sergeant. Unfortunately, I do not think that you will enjoy most of them as much as I will.''

The sadistic bastard looked all together too excited at the prospects for Moffitt's comfort. Or rather, he corrected himself, the prospects for his discomfort. Moffitt swallowed against a throat that had suddenly gone dry.

Greuber raised an eyebrow. "Nothing to say now?" He snorted. "One bad habit gone already! This may be easier than we both thought!" Greuber crowed.

Moffitt was done talking with a man who for all appearances and intents was mad. There really was nothing left to say. If the man thought that he was going to have a go at him in his bloody torture chamber, he had another thing coming. Moffitt decided that if it came to that, he may just have to convince Greuber to shoot him.

Not put off by Moffitt's lack of response, Greuber continued to talk through what he had planned for Moffitt with an unnaturally animated excitement.

Moffitt, finding the man's obsession exceedingly tedious, quickly lost focus on the conversation. Turning his wrist slightly, he looked at Dietrich's watch. It confirmed that it wasn't just his imagination and that quite a bit of time had passed since he had seen Troy last. As Greuber continued to threaten his general health, well being, and sanity, Moffitt wondered what the hell was taking Troy so long. After all, he felt that he had held up his part of the bargain. Troy had better bloody well "shake it" and deliver his.

Long minutes continued to tick by, accompanied by the soundtrack of Greuber's sick babbling and the sound of "Lili Marlene" playing softly on the radio. With each passing moment, Moffitt began to face the inevitable conclusion that perhaps something hadn't gone quite to Troy's plan, either.

Moffitt didn't like where that left him and he considered his choices. He could continue to stall by engaging Greuber in a truly disturbing conversation that would likely give him years of nightmares. Or, he could kill Greuber and then go to see for himself why the camp hadn't been blown sky high just quite yet.

With Greuber still chanting a litany of awful things, Moffitt decided that the second option was the clear winner. When Greuber completely forgot himself and got close enough for Moffitt to grab him, Moffitt took quick advantage of the situation.

As they struggled, Moffitt felt as though he was having more disappointing than usual results. Greuber, while not taller than Moffitt, was broader and stronger. The fighting skills that Moffitt usually employed to equalize his relatively slight build weren't proving as effective as they normally did. Despite his former plum position in Berlin, Greuber was obviously in fair shape and knew how to fight. That at least was what Moffitt would have expected from a Wehrmacht officer, even if nothing else about Greuber had been.

As Greuber managed to land an exceedingly painful blow to Moffitt's ribs, Moffitt realized that the situation was likely was not going to end well for one of them. Despite his usual self confidence, he was beginning to think that it might be him if something didn't change quickly. As Greuber's fist again made contact with Moffitt's face, Moffitt sorely wished that Troy would hurry things up.

When the first explosion rang in his ears, Moffitt knew that his wish had finally been granted. It was, thought Moffitt, about bloody time.

When a second and louder series of explosions began, Moffitt used Greuber's surprise to his advantage. He knocked the gun out of Greuber's hand and shoved the man off of him. Greuber fell backwards across a chair and went down.

Breathing heavily, Moffitt looked down and found Greuber's gun at his feet. He congratulated himself on his luck. Another round of explosions began to echo around the camp and to rock the building. Moffitt moved to retrieve the gun while it seemed that the world was ending around his ears.

Regardless of the chaos, Moffitt heard the gunshot loud and clear.

At first, Moffitt had thought that it was merely a stray shot from the confusion outside. Then, the all too familiar scent of the discharge of a gun was suddenly in his nose, as was the sweetly raw smell of blood. Shortly after that, his brain registered a feeling like someone had driven a red hot poker straight through his shoulder. It took Moffitt a few seconds more to realize that the blood that he smelled was his own.

Moffitt staggered back, as much from his own surprise as the impact of the bullet. "What the hell?'' He looked at Greuber. Greuber was holding Dietrich's gun.

"You left me no choice.'' Greuber shook his head in regret. "You were right, Sergeant, some things were just not meant to be.''

Moffitt made a face at the pain that was continuing to bloom in his shoulder. "Pity,'' he managed, softly, trying for sarcasm and failing. "So this is the way that it ends, then?''

Greuber nodded. "I am afraid so. With a bang and a whimper.''

Moffitt heard another gunshot.

Was it Greuber finishing him off, he wondered? Perhaps it was something else entirely. Moffitt honestly couldn't tell.

He was aware that he was falling backwards, certainly with the impact of the floor soon to follow. Something like a detached calmness came over him as the world seemed to move in slow motion. He easily recalled his earlier conversations with Greuber that had foreshadowed the present events.

Perhaps, thought Moffitt, he had unnecessarily tempted fate by having been too flippant when talking about his own death. He had thought that he was being clever. But after all, as Moffitt himself had pointed out earlier, clever Jack Moffitt was indeed no match for a bullet.

When the world went black around him, Moffitt couldn't help but to wonder if it was going to be the time that he actually died.


	5. Resolution

Moffitt!"

Again, "Moffitt!"

The sound of his name was almost enough to bring Moffitt back to his senses. He groaned. For a moment, he wished that the blackness would engulf him again. Reality was decidedly painful.

"Moffitt!"

Moffitt dragged himself out from under what proved to be a body and to his feet. Hand instinctively going to hold the mess that was his left shoulder, he looked to the window.

Troy's face was there.

"Troy!" Moffitt managed, feeling warm blood pulse through his fingers in time with his thankfully still beating heart.

"Moffitt. Get yourself in a little trouble?''

"Seems so, doesn't it?''

"Yeah.''

There was something that he needed to tell Troy, Moffitt realized, but for the life him he wasn't sure what. Extremely disoriented, he shook his head to clear it. "Dietrich is on his way. He must have gotten loose somehow. He spoke to Greuber. Grueber knows . . . ''

Moffitt tried to say something else but found that his mouth had gone so dry that he couldn't utter another word. He started to try again before Troy stopped him.

"Well," said Troy, "what Greuber knows really doesn't matter too much now, does it?"

Moffitt looked down at the body on the floor. There was a neat, if large, hole in the corpse's back, like the center of a bull's eye in an ever widening circle of crimson blood. It was the mark of someone with very good aim and a Colt .45.

"Suppose that solves that, then?'' Moffitt managed to focus on Troy.

"I'd say so.''

"Thank you, Troy.''

"No problem.'' Troy's eyes went to Moffitt's shoulder and then to his face. "You okay, Moffitt? You don't look so good."

"Just fine,'' Moffitt lied. He actually thought that he might be sick, but there seemed to be little point in sharing that.

"If you say so, Moffitt." Troy turned to look behind him as another explosion ripped through the air. Then he looked back to Moffitt. "Hitch and Tully just pulled out in the trucks with all the rest of the prisoners. It's time for us to move out of here, too. Can you make it to the Kubelwagon? It's still parked out front." Troy grinned. "I'll even drive.''

"Such courteous service, how could I refuse?'' Steadying himself against the desk, Moffitt grimaced. "I'll meet you out front shortly. Only one last thing to take care of."

Troy narrowed his eyes. "Get out here, Moffitt!'' he ordered. "Or I'll come in there and get you.''

"There's something that I really must do,'' Moffitt insisted. "Won't be a moment. Troy.''

Looking thoroughly put out, Troy finally nodded.

"Fine. But shake it, will you, Moffitt?'' he said. "I'd like to get out of here before Dietrich shows up and gets mad about what you've done to his uniform."

* * *

><p>When they arrived at the camp it was on fire, burning brightly in the desert night.<p>

Bader had driven the American jeep through what remained of the front gate and brought it to a halt in front of the commandant's office. Dietrich jumped out of the vehicle before it had quite rolled to a stop.

Two at a time, he took the steps into the building. "Hauptmann Greuber?" Dietrich yelled.

Not surprisingly, there was no answer.

The door to the commandant's office was ajar and Dietrich pushed through it, his borrowed side arm drawn. Bader had ended up right behind him, but when Dietrich saw the scene inside, he stopped short, blocking the boy from entering the room.

Dietrich wondered how many dead men Bader had seen so far in his young life. However few it had been so far, that there would be at least one more added into the total that night. A man was lying face down on the floor. Dietrich looked back at Bader, raised his eyebrows in warning, and then went into the room to confirm what he already knew.

Rolling the body over, Dietrich checked its vitals and its identification disk. Predictably, he confirmed that the man was Hauptmann Greuber. Also predictably, the man was dead. Dietrich let the corpse fall back over, hiding the man's face.

He straightened up and looked at Bader with some concern. Other than being paler than normal, the boy seemed mostly fine. Of that, Dietrich was glad. He didn't relish the idea of either having to deal with Bader fainting or getting sick. The day had been trying enough.

Sighing, Dietrich helped himself to one of Greuber's cigarettes. Leaning on the desk, he smoked quietly as he watched most of the buildings in the compound burn. In the dull firelight, Dietrich could see the dark shadows on the ground that he knew to be the bodies of the camp's guards. He started to count them.

When he reached a dozen, he stopped.

He and Bader had been lucky in the aftermath of their altercation with the Rat Patrol. The Englander had even been thoughtful enough to leave them water and other supplies that would allow them to survive until someone found them. When the supply convey had found them later in the afternoon, neither Dietrich nor Bader had been much the worse for wear. Greuber and his guards had not been so lucky.

Dietrich wanted to make sure that Bader learned a lesson that night and if he had to use Greuber's misfortune to teach it, then so be it. Dietrich stubbed out the cigarette and looked at Bader. "So, do you still think that the Rat Patrol is useless without their leader?"

Bader blinked, wide eyed at the carnage and destruction around him. He said nothing.

Dietrich felt impatient. "Well, Bader?''

Bader looked at Greuber's body. "No, Herr Hauptmann," he said slowly. "Even one or two of them alone seem to be as dangerous as the four together."

"Promise me, Bader? That you will not ever forget that?" Dietrich glared at his lieutenant when he did not respond. "Promise me!''

"Yes, sir! I promise, Herr Hauptmann,'' Bader said, solemnly.

"Good.'' Dietrich winced as the fabric of his borrowed uniform blouse pulled across his sun blistered shoulders. "It will save your life one day." Potentially, with having to rely upon Bader as his second, Dietrich knew that the life that he saved might just be his own.

Bader pointed at the crimson handprints on the wall by the door.

Dietrich moved to the doorway to look for himself. The prints continued at regular intervals down the hallway, leading out of the building.

"One of them was injured apparently. This blood is still fresh." Bader touched the bloody evidence and rubbed his fingers together.

Dietrich spanned his hand against the print. The hand that had made it was relatively the same size as his. He would wager that the owner of the hand would wear roughly the same size of uniform as he did. In addition to the bloody hand prints mapping the walls, there was quite a bit of blood to be seen, both in puddles and drops. Dietrich knew with certainty that not all of it Greuber's. Some of it, at least, was likely Jack Moffitt's. But as gruesome as the scene was, instinctually Dietrich knew that Moffitt was still alive.

The Englander had more lives than a cat. Troy and his men all did, damn them.

Dietrich looked again at Greuber's body and at wound that had taken the man's life. There was no doubt on Dietrich's mind that Greuber had been killed almost instantly by the very expertly placed bullet. Dietrich's eyes wandered again to the large open window that looked out into the compound.

"I would say that Greuber shot Sergeant Moffitt and then Sergeant Troy shot Greuber in the back," Dietrich surmised.

Shrugging, Bader nodded. "Sounds like a good theory, sir."

"Yes.'' Not that it mattered now, but Dietrich could almost picture the scene that led to Greuber's death in his head as if he had been there. He supposed that was the value in knowing one's enemy.

Bader's voice interrupted Dietrich's train of thought. "Should we go after the Rat Patrol, Herr Hauptmann? We might still be able to catch them."

While the idea was tempting, Dietrich shook his head. It would be nearly impossible to find Troy and his men in the darkness, not to mention dangerous. And as if Troy wasn't deadly enough normally, he would be as protective as a mother bear if one of his men was wounded.

Dietrich admitted to himself that he wasn't feeling particularly suicidal. Enough men had already died at the hands of the Rat Patrol. There was no reason to risk putting Bader's name, or even his own, on that list. At least not that night. It would wait. If there was one thing of which Dietrich was certain, it was that he was positive that they would all run into each other again soon enough. The passing of another day was not going to make any difference in the grand scheme of a much longer war.

"No, Bader. We will check the camp for survivors and damage. It will likely take most of the night. I will make a full report of what has happened to our superiors. We will just stay here," Dietrich said.

"Very good, sir. I will take a look around this building and then move out to investigate the rest of the camp.'' Bader shook his head. "Something tells me that I am not going to be finding and any remaining prisoners. Nor many survivors.''

Unfortunately, Dietrich had to agree. "Go on then, Bader.''

"Yes, sir, Herr Hauptmann!''

Alone, Dietrich shuffled through the papers that were scattered around Greuber's desk. He selected the most interesting looking one and began reading it. It dealt with several complaints and sanctions that had been levied against the camp. The report included multiple entries on the abuse of the prisoners. The offenses detailed varied from withholding food and medical care to far worse things.

All of them in violation with Wehrmacht standards, not to mention the Geneva Convention.

Dietrich rubbed his head. Why would the Wehrmacht he wondered, considering the rumors that even he had heard, put a man like Greuber in charge of a POW camp? He would expect that of the Gestapo, who seemed to actively celebrate men predisposed to cruelty, or of even the idiot SS. He did not expect it of his own branch of the military. As he continued to read the report, it only served to underline his question.

Dietrich looked again to Greuber's body. The Rat Patrol had obviously done the Wehrmacht a favor. They would have shot Greuber themselves when they had become aware of what he had just learned. Dietrich admitted that he might have been tempted to do it himself.

"Herr Hauptmann?"

Dietrich was glad to put down the report. He needed to read it no more as the prisoners had not only been liberated as POWs but also from the sick madness of Greuber. "Yes, Bader, what is it?"

Dietrich took another cigarette and lit it.

"I have found two guards alive, sir. They were locked in what appears to be some sort of interrogation room.'' Bader looked momentarily confused. "The presence of the room itself was very odd. It is not in keeping with how we would treat prisoners.''

By ''we,'' Dietrich knew that Bader meant the Wehrmacht. It reminded him that Bader and he had something in common, no matter how green the boy was. Bader also came from a family that had a long history and tradition of serving Germany honorably in military servcie. It also served to remind Dietrich that Greuber was a pox upon everything for which that history and tradition stood.

It was, thought Dietrich, hard to fight a gentleman's war when gentlemen were no longer the only people fighting it.

Despite the good news that anyone from the camp had survived the wrath of the Rat Patrol, Dietrich grimaced. "The men? Are they badly hurt?''

"No, not really. Beaten, but no significant or lasting injuries. They have already mostly recovered.''

"Good. They can help us to sort out the rest of the camp. What else did you find, Bader?''

"These were left by the door, on the adjutant's desk, sir.'' Bader displayed a collection of things to Dietrich: A packet of cigarettes, a revolver, a holster, a watch, a wallet, papers, and an identification disk.

Dietrich recognized them all. They were his. In spite of a truly trying day and the even worse situation into which he had walked, Dietrich smiled.

"There's a note, as well, sir," said Bader. He handed it to Dietrich. "I think that it might be for you.''

The paper was smudged with bloody fingerprints and the note was in shakily penned German:

_"As promised, the return of most of your borrowed items. Uniform and auto still in use. Will return at first convenient date. –JM"_

Dietrich allowed himself a moment to reflect upon exactly how remarkable Troy and his men were.

Dietrich nodded, finally satisfied. There were still gentlemen fighting the war.

* * *

><p>"Hey there, Pam. How's he doing?''<p>

"Sergeant Moffitt is doing very well. He's been a joy and a pleasure to have around, actually.'' The pretty nurse gave Troy a smile. ''I think that he's actually finally gotten the hang of being a patient.''

"Well, lord knows, it's about time. He's had enough practice, right?'' Troy grinned at her.

Pam's mouth narrowed. "You're one to talk, Sam. I could say the same about you. Or any one of your boys, really.''

Troy laughed. "I guess that you could. Look at this way, Pam. We're your job security.''

"Thanks to the war, my job is secure enough. Unfortunately. Speaking of which, I need to get back to work. Why don't you come to see me sometime when one you isn't half dead?''

"That's a deal,'' Troy told her. "Might have to wait until after the war, though.''

"Figures.'' Pam sighed. "Though that's probably for the best, Sergeant.''

"You're probably right, Lieutenant.'' Troy tossed off a salute to her.

Pam stuck her tongue out at him in return. Then she smiled a smile at Troy that held some promise, but unfortunately, not nearly enough.

Troy smiled back and then moved on.

He had enough frustration in his life. He hardly needed to add any more.

* * *

><p>Troy was pleased to see Moffitt sitting up in bed with Tully attentively by his side.<p>

Other than a bandaged shoulder, Moffitt looked mostly okay, considering. Troy let out a sigh of relief. The hit that Moffitt had taken at close range had been bad enough, if not necessarily life threatening. But with his nearly impossible to find blood type and his susceptibility to contract infections and fevers, Troy felt like he never knew how things were going to end up with Moffitt.

"Moffitt," said Troy, coming to stand at the foot of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Troy!'' Moffitt looked up from the book that had all of his and Tully's concentration. "On the mend, I'd say. Tully has been kind enough to keep me company while I've been laid up."

Coming around the side of the bed, Troy drew up a chair and took a seat beside of Tully. "Good." He grinned at Tully. "Glad to see you doing something useful while Hitch and I go out and get ourselves shot at."

Tully shrugged. "I'd rather be out there with you, Sarge."

"I know, Tully." Troy sighed and looked at Moffitt again. "How long before you're fit for duty again? The doc told me when we brought you in that it could be a couple of weeks, but that it was too soon to tell."

"Just a few more days, actually."

"Wow, that's a record recovery, Moffitt." Troy blinked in surprise.

"Yes. It will be." A familiar look of stubborn determination settled on Moffitt's face. "Whether the doctor agrees with it or not."

"If you say so, Moffitt." Troy grinned at him.

Whether he was just not choosing to acknowledge Troy's sarcasm or whether he had completely missed it, Moffitt merely nodded. He made a one handed notation in the book that he was holding. He showed it to Tully who also nodded.

"What you guys got there?" Troy cocked his head and tried to get a good look at what they were up to.

"Oh, it's a crossword puzzle book. They're quite a lot of fun you know. Tully is becoming quite the whiz," Moffitt said.

Tully looked pleased.

Troy wondered what had brought this on. Tully hardly seemed like the crossword puzzle type.

"Don't be so skeptical, Troy," Moffitt said, obviously noticing the look on his face. "Tully is quite good. Here, let me give you an example."" Moffitt's eyes scanned down through the puzzle's clues. "All right, Tully, here's one for you: 11 down. Seven letters, third letter is a `v'." He looked expectantly at Tully. "Spear."

Tully thought for just a moment, his face the picture of concentration. "Javelin?"

"Well done, Tully!'' Moffitt nodded and wrote the answer in the blocks. Then, he handed the book to Tully who filled in a few more letters.

Moffitt looked up at Troy. "See? I told you so."

Troy shook his head. "I won't even ask how this started."

"Just a way to kill time, Sarge," said Tully. He looked at Moffitt and handed him the book and pencil again. "I liked the other book. The clues were better."

"Yes, I don't disagree. Perhaps Dietrich will send it back to us when he receives the rest of his things." Moffitt looked at Troy. "We left it in the back of the jeep when we came for you and Hitch," he explained.

"When Dietrich gets the rest of things?" Troy asked, puzzled. "Huh?''

Nodding, Moffitt shifted his position. The movement was followed by gritted teeth, a muffled moan, and a grimace. It was not lost on Troy that despite's Moffitt's earlier bravado, that the guy suddenly looked more than a little pale.

Moffitt took a moment and a deep breath before answering Troy. "Yes, you see, I promised to return all of the items that I, erm, borrowed from friend Dietrich. It seemed to be the least that I could do, considering the situation."

"What?" Troy looked from Moffitt to Tully, still not understanding.

"A gentleman always keeps his word. While I managed to leave some of Dietrich's things behind for him at the camp, there are a few items left outstanding. Car and uniform, for instance."

Troy's brow furrowed.

"There's an old German proverb," explained Moffitt, looking momentarily thoughtful before grinning wryly. "'He who borrows sells his freedom.' I'm sure that applies even if you are borrowing to gain someone's freedom."

"Maybe.'' Troy thought about it. The conclusion that he reached was the same one as always. Moffitt had odd ideas about some things.

Moffitt fell back against his pillows, his eyes suddenly looking heavy. He made a face, swallowed, and then sighed.

"Sarge? You okay?" Tully asked, taking the puzzle book and pencil from him. "Want me to call the nurse?"

Eyes fluttering closed and then suddenly open again, Moffitt managed to look fairly alert. "Just suddenly very tired. Likely just a side effect of the morphine that our lovely neighborhood angel of mercy administered not all that long ago. I'm sure that the little blue pills that she seems to favor are a contributing factor, as well.''

"You sure?'' Troy asked, looking around for Pam, just in case.

"Positive. Don't worry, Troy. It's nothing that a nap won't fix."

"If you're sure?''

Moffitt smiled. "I am.'' His eyes went closed.

With effort, Moffitt opened them once more. Troy noticed that Moffitt's gaze was even fuzzier than it had been before as the meds continued to run their course.

"I say, Troy?" Moffitt's voice was suddenly soft and dreamy.

"Yeah?" Troy answered, leaning in to make sure that he heard what Moffitt was obviously trying very hard to tell him.

"You will make sure that Dietrich's uniform is laundered and mended the best that we can before we return it to him? I made rather a mess of it, you know."

Moffitt's eyes drooped closed again.

Troy waited for him to say something else but it appeared that Moffitt had finally passed out.

Not able to resist, Troy put a hand on Moffitt's forehead. There was no evidence of a delirium causing fever.

Troy looked at Tully. "Did he have a head wound when they brought him in here? Or is he just off his rocker because Pam has him stuffed to the gills with pain meds?"

"Nah, his head is fine. He's been in and out some since I've been with him, but Moffitt knows what he's saying.'' Shrugging, Tully pulled a matchstick out of his pocket. "My pappy always said, `Never a borrower or a lender be.' Guess Moffitt agrees with him. Won't hurt to give Dietrich back his things, will it, Sarge?"

"Nah, I guess not. If it means that much to Moffitt, we'll do it." Troy paused to glance at the deceptively innocent looking sleeping Englishman. "But, I can tell you one thing."

"Yeah? What's that?"

Troy grinned. "I bet that Dietrich is going to wish that uniform still had Moffitt in it when we send it back to him."


End file.
